


A Million Reasons To Love

by Kagetsukai



Series: Month-long Writing Challenge [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cinnamon Roll, Demisexuality, Depression, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Reluctant Hero, Romantic Fluff, Sadness, Shyness, looking for happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 13,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagetsukai/pseuds/Kagetsukai
Summary: Osric Cadash, a young 23 year old dwarf - and a quiet enforcer for the Carta - wakes up to find himself in the middle of a mess. He's accused of destroying the Temple of Sacred Ashes, murdering the Divine, and causing the world at large to plunge into chaos.He's fairly sure that wasn't him.As he reluctantly joins the Inquisition to help clear his name, he finds good friends along the way, and a promise of love he didn't know he could have.





	1. The Great Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my Fanfic March Madness challenge where I post daily about my sweet dwarven boy. The ficlets won't be long, but I hope they'll paint enough of a picture. If you're looking for info on Osric Cadash, I have an [OC page](https://kagetsukai.tumblr.com/post/182942494549/osric-cadash) for him on Tumblr.

Osric has never had to fight his way through what a felt like a crowd of demons before, and never had to do it while gasping for the thin mountain air, so when he and Lady Pentaghast arrived to a battle already in progress, he felt disoriented and grossly unprepared to fight. He watched in awe as she ran head-first into the fray and proceeded to destroy everything in sight. It wasn’t until an elven mage grabbed his hand and yanked it towards the rift that he found his bearings.

And the time stopped.

He watched, as if from outside of his own body, as a green strand of Fade energy connected him to the rift and a surge of magic rattled his insides. The excruciating pain promptly brought him back to reality, a reality where Osric now had magic running through his body and no headspace to parse this information. Once everything went back to normal, he stared at his marred hand, wondering if perhaps he had a demon living there now.

There were words being spoken around him, but he barely heard them. It wasn’t until a solid clap against his back that he looked up - right into the face of a red-headed dwarf.

“Hey, kid!” the man exclaimed a bit too enthusiastically. “I’m Varric Tethras, storyteller extraordinaire and a badass with a crossbow - at your service. What’s your name?”

Osric stared back for a moment, suddenly all too aware of being the center of everybody’s attention, as if knowing his name was the single most important thing. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and hoped his beard might hide most of it.

“Ummm… Osric? Osric Cadash,” he said softly.

Varric narrowed his eyes.

“You sound like Kirkwall.”

“Grew up in Darktown,” he replied with a shrug and felt a tad defensive. “What of it?”

A huge grin split Varric’s face.

“Absolutely nothing. We’ll get along just fine,” he concluded and pulled Osric towards the elven mage. “Come meet Chuckles. He’s _hilarious_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not pictured: Solas getting huffy over Varric's choice of a nickname while Osric eventually smiles at Varric's odd antics. Varric immediately adopts Osric as his own son and would murder the world for him. In case there was any question about it ;)


	2. New Groups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet was salvaged from when I first tried to do a challenge with Osric. If it sounds familiar, that's why.

For the nth time that day, Osric wondered if this was what dreaming felt like: the disconnect, the disorientation, the panic. He stood at the end of a large table inside of a building dedicated to a deity he was unsure existed, and the four humans that stared him down in four different ways made him want to turn around and run. He did not belong here.

“No,” he finally said, his voice strange and distant in his ears. “I won’t do it. I just can’t.”

Commander Cullen’s face folded into an even grumpier expression, Lady Josephine Montilyet looked disappointed for a brief moment before she settled on a mild interest mixed with concern, while Cassandra Pentaghast showed her displeasure in the most obvious way she had.

“Ugh.”

The only person Osric couldn’t read was Sister Nightingale and it unsettled him more than he cared to admit. As an enforcer for Carta, he had learned quickly the intricacies of emotions and how quickly they could turn to your disadvantage. Not knowing what the spymaster thought or felt was yet another reason why he didn’t want to stick around.

“You are free to go, of course,” Leliana said in her level, pleasantly accented voice. “Nobody will stop you. But do keep in mind that the world outside of Haven wants you dead. They think you a heretic, a blasphemer who killed our beloved Divine and threw the world into chaos. How long could you stay alive on your own?”

 _Longer than you assume_ , thought Osric. These people clearly underestimated his ability to survive against all odds, but he wasn’t about to announce his skills to any first human he came across. These four were clearly desperate to keep him around, to use the strange magic in his left hand to whatever advantage they thought they could get. 

That’s when the mark flared up again; it sparkled and fizzled and _hurt_ in a way that put fear and uncertainty back into Osric’s young heart. If he had been the same person before this blasted Conclave put him at the center of attention, he could have returned to being a nobody, a dwarf in the background. With a magical beacon permanently attached to his hand - and possibly killing him with every passing moment - his options were limited at best. 

“I don’t trust you,” he announced, more to Leliana than anybody else in the room.

A pleased smirk creased her face.

“Most people don’t,” she replied. “Sleep with a knife under your pillow, if it makes you feel better, but we mean you no harm. We want to save this world and you are our only hope of doing so.”

The last thing Osric wanted to do was to sign up for some hero’s quest to save a world that didn’t care about him, but his options were limited. He was also exhausted and needed something solid in his belly. 

“Fine.” It was a resigned sort of an agreement as Osric closed his eyes and pressed fingers against his eyeballs. “I’ll do it, even if I don’t know how.”

Cassandra moved beside him and he slowly opened his eyes - slowly enough to watch her slam a large, complicated-looking tome onto the table.

“Don’t worry, we have a blueprint.”


	3. Red

Osric had realized a long time ago that he did not view women the same way men around him did. Once or twice he had participated in a group Carta excursion to the local whorehouse, but each time left him feeling more and more dissatisfied with what he was expected to do. So he stopped going, instead choosing to excessively imbibe in mead any time someone tried to drag him along. Deep in his heart, he had thought himself broken.

“Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service.”

Such simple words, yet they changed so much.

She was a breath of fresh air, her sparkling eyes looking up at him with such sweet adoration he felt a dire need to never disappoint her. She was just a scout, a person who briefed him on the situation in Hinterlands, but no matter how hard he tried not to, he kept staring at her face - mesmerized. He wanted to trace his fingers along her cheeks and nose, to memorize all the dips and bumps and scars she carried. He wanted to count all the freckles on her skin, the red little dots peppered everywhere with fascinating frequency. He wanted to know her and didn’t know how.

“They say you’re the last great hope for Thedas.”

More hope, more admiration, all followed up by the sweetest smile he had ever seen. If he had ever met a woman as pretty as Scout Harding, he could no longer remember. It should scare him how quickly she took up residence in his heart, but all he could do was smile back and say:

“Wonderful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anybody is wondering, I'm playing a little fast and loose with how that first interaction went. I'm sure nobody cares :P Not pictured: Varric standing off to the side, watching Osric go gooey and fuzzy around the edges while staring at Lace, and gleefully cackling on the inside.


	4. Captivated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another ficlet salvaged from before. I love Varric's relationship with Osric and everything I've written for them is still good.

They were heading out into the Hinterlands in the morning to take care of a seemingly endless list of things, but no matter how hard he tried, Osric could not fall asleep. He sat in front of the fire and kept watch; a useless endeavor, since there were Inquisition soldiers at Crossroads to make things safe. He held a small stick he pulled out of the pile and scraped swiftly over the dirt, sculpting it into a shape that has haunted his thoughts since earlier that day. This had to be his fourth attempt at the portrait, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not get it right. 

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

Startled, Osric’s first instinct was to jump to his feet and smudge the picture into an unrecognizable mess. His knife already in hand, he turned to face Varric and stopped. The older dwarf looked completely unperturbed by the show of aggression, which embarrassed Osric into remembering himself. They were supposed to be companions on the road, yet here he was, behaving like an untested youth who jumped at every shadow. He re-sheathed the knife and crossed his arms instead.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Varric raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Osric’s feet.

“You’re the Herald of Andraste. I’m sure Scout Harding would agree to a date with you,” he said.

Osric scoffed, feeling a blush creeping up his neck.. 

“I’d sooner die than use this position to garner someone’s favor,” he replied, then caught himself. “Not that I’d want to, of course, Scout Harding or otherwise.”

Varric’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline. The look of complete disbelief quickly shifted into sheer amusement as he chuckled.

“Sure thing, kid,” he said. “Whatever makes you _not_ sleep at night.”

And with that he turned around and went back to his tent, leaving Osric with a feeling that he had revealed a lot more than he had intended.


	5. Impostor

Osric had expected that things weren’t going to go smoothly when the Inquisition arrived in Val Royeaux. Everybody spoke in that lilting Orlesian accent and kept looking down on him as if he had carried leprosy into the capitol. Once their party entered city proper, people started gasping and running away on sight - some of them even screamed in terror and one fainted.

At first it was entertaining, but the more they marched, the more words actually sunk their claws into Osric.

_Impostor._

_False Herald._

_A fraud._

Someone loosened an arrow at them, but Solas’ barrier kept everybody safe. The perpetrator ran away quickly, leaving Osric with a feeling of growing terror. If the civilians were behaving like that, what would the Templars do to him? Could he survive this interaction with the Chantry or would he be dragged away in chains, branded a heretic, and publicly hanged? Perhaps it would be better if he just turned around and--

“Wow, these Orlesians are dumber than I thought they would be,” he heard next to him.

He turned and looked at Varric, whose narrowed eyes looked out for any potential threats from the rooftops.

“What do you mean?” Osric asked quietly, his voice trembling just a little.

Varric glanced in his direction and smirked. “Well, first they freak out over having a dwarf challenge their seat of power, but then they come at us with toothpicks. They clearly can’t decide if they’re actually afraid of you or not. Amateurs.”

By now Osric has learned that Varric used humor as a way to deflect negative emotions, but couldn’t help relaxing either way. One look around his companions reminded him that he was surrounded by seasoned warriors who would not only protect him, but fight at his side no matter. Besides, wasn’t he a dependable warrior himself?

In the end, it didn’t matter what the Chantry thought of him. He was in Val Royeaux to fix their shit and there was nothing fake about _that_.


	6. Smitten

The prospect of heading for the Fallow Mire sounded extremely unappealing and Osric dreaded the wake up bell the next morning. Perhaps there were people out there who enjoyed facing off against the undead, but he was decidedly not one of them.

“Cheer up, kid!” Varric snickered next to him as they both nursed the last mug of an evening ale. “It can’t all be bad, right?”

Osric gave him a squinty side-glance.

“I read the reports about the area,” he grumbled. “They had phrases like ‘shambling corpses’ and ‘perpetual swamp’.”

Suddenly Varric’s face gained a positively mischievous expression and he leaned in a bit.

“I have it on good authority that a certain redhead is going to be there to brief you on the situation,” he whispered.

A quick memory of pale, freckled skin, sparkling eyes, and a disarming grin made Osric’s heart skip a beat before he remembered himself.

“I’m going there to get things done, Varric,” he pointed out. “I’m not going to a bog to find a… date.”

The word seemed silly at best, but Osric wasn’t going to spend more time trying to find a better one. Knowing that Scout Harding would be at the Fallow Mire when he arrived made his night. 

“You’re still a man, Osric,” Varric pointed out. “You’re allowed to flirt with a pretty girl once in a while.”

It made sense, of course. There was a giant hole in the sky, the Chantry was trying to eliminate him, and no matter how hard he tried, the list of items needing his attention seemed to grow by the hour. He deserved a moment of reprieve. Still...

“What if we’re both in a bog? Should I still--” Osric asked.

Varric didn’t hesitate with a reply. “Yes, _especially_ if you’re in a bog,” he said.

The advice seemed preposterous at best, but Osric wasn’t going to question it. He raised his mug to Varric and they quietly clinked them together. He just had to focus on the good parts of this trip and all would be well.


	7. Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another one of the 'oldies'. I absolutely adored this interaction between Osric and Lace, so I decided to keep it. There's a little bit of flirting!!! How could I throw that away?

The quiet pitter-patter of rain against the oiled leather of the tent made a pleasant background to what Osric considered an unpleasant task. Before him stood a large table covered top to bottom with the map of the Storm Coast, lit only by a solitary candle, while the edges were lined with an array of different reports. They all went together, he had been told, but at the speed he was going, it would be sunrise again before he connected all of the proverbial dots.

“Bugger it all,” he grumbled to himself.

As if his evening hadn’t been shitty enough, the tent flap moved aside and a person quietly slipped inside, one he recognized immediately: Scout Harding. At any other time Osric would have thanked his lucky stars for the opportunity to spend some alone time with the woman who stuttered his heart, but he was exhausted from the day’s travel and not feeling particularly flirty. He watched as she noticed his presence and stopped, an expression of surprise clear on her face.

“Herald,” she said quietly. Then, as if remembering herself, she performed the blasted Inquisition salute. “I didn’t realize you’d still be up. Is something wrong?”

Osric scoffed.

“I’m not the blasted Herald,” he said. “I wish everybody would stop calling me that!”

The outburst must have been louder and harsher than he thought because Harding’s face shifted into a carefully blank facade he associated with all Inquisition lackeys. It hurt that he drove her to shut down like that, but what could he do? He wasn’t Varric with his honeyed tongue and a quip for every occasion. Instead, he palmed at his face and groaned.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” he said through his fingers.

By the time he put down his hands again and reopened his eyes, Harding was much closer to him, looking a little worried.

“Are you okay, sir? You look exhausted,” she said and her voice softened. “You were on the road the whole day. You should rest up before you venture out tomorrow.”

Perhaps that was a good suggestion, but then he wouldn’t have her here, alone.

“Osric,” he said and tried to form his mouth into a pleasant smile. “My name is Osric. Not ‘sir’, not ‘Herald’; just Osric.”

Harding squinted and tilted her head a little.

“You know I can’t call you that,” she pointed out. “That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

He had expected that answer, but it didn’t hurt to ask. He shrugged.

“Maybe. But it would make me really happy if you did,” he said and this time smiled for real.

Once more Harding’s face took on a mask-like quality, but Osric knew her just enough to notice a little tinge of pink at the cheekbones and the way her ears twitched back and forth, indicating she wasn’t so unaffected by his clumsy flirting. A twinkle appeared in her gorgeous eyes and she took on a look of mischief he adored so much.

“I will make you a deal, then,” she said. “You close that blasted hole in the sky, we can exchange first names.”

Osric started nodding before she was even finished talking.

“We have a deal then!” he announced and reached out his hand. She shook it firmly. “Now, it’s time for me to return to this torture.”

Harding looked over the mess on the table, quickly assessing his clear inability to discern what was urgent and what could wait, and humphed.

“Would you like me to help you with this?” she asked and pointed to a mark on the closest piece of paper. “All reports are coded depending on what they pertain to, and depending on what needs your immediate attention, you can pick and choose what you read first.”

Osric’s mouth fell open as he gazed all over the table. Reading Common had never been easy for him and trying to get through all of these reports felt like a cruel and unusual punishment.

“Why didn’t Cassandra tell me about that?” he exclaimed and hushed himself, remembering the late hour. “I would have been done hours ago.”

Harding giggled and the sound threw Osric further off-kilter.

“The Seeker is infamous for her ability to speed-read through the most challenging of texts,” she said through quiet laughter. “She probably doesn’t realize we code the missives and just reads everything down the list.”

This sounded exactly like something Cassandra would do, Osric realized. Too bad it didn’t help him at all. At least Harding was amused by the situation, because he was ready to cry with frustration.

“Would you like me to explain what the codes mean so you can go to bed quicker?” she asked with a smile.

He would have agreed to anything when she asked him like that.

“Yes,” he said, relieved. “Please.”

The next hour flew by in a haze of flirty quips, sincere questions, and hard work, but when Osric finally laid down for the night, he felt happier than he had been in weeks.


	8. Mercenary

Rain was the worst thing ever, Osric decided. As he walked along the shore of The Storm Coast, getting drenched in what felt like a perpetual torrent from the sky, he wondered if he would ever feel dry again.

“I hate this,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Tell me about it,” Varric replied just as quietly.

Next to them, Cassandra and Solas looked completely unperturbed by the elements, which just felt completely unfair.

“I hope this Iron Bull is worth the hassle,” Varric said.

“Me and you both.”

They rounded an outcropping of rocks to a full view of a battle led by the largest Qunari Osric has ever laid his eyes on - and he had seen the Arishok once. People were fighting, though the mercenaries were most definitely on the winning side. Cassandra moved forward, then stopped and glanced toward Osric.

“Are we going to join them or just watch them from afar?” she asked pointedly.

Osric shrugged and pulled out his sword. “I’m cold. I need some exercise to warm up.”

Behind them, Solas gave a long-suffering sigh and unlatched his staff.


	9. The Lady And The Tramp

Vivienne’s did everything in her power not to complain about the conditions she was forced to travel in. It had been years since the last time she had camped in a tent and even longer still since she had to part-take in a simple Fereldan stew young Osric was so fond of. She bore it all in silence, because she was a strong woman who did not show weakness to people who had not earned her trust. Despite all that, the rough terrain under her bedroll woke her up way before her time, so she gave up trying to sleep, and stepped outside.

It was a clear night, lit by countless stars, and it felt strangely peaceful. Vivienne took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp air of late spring that brought a hint of moisture and a promise of rain. While it smelled nice, she was not looking forward to trekking in the mud again.

A quick glance around the darkened camp helped her locate Osric, who sat near a tiny fire while bent over something in his lap. He seemed completely absorbed by his task, which annoyed Vivienne a little - he was supposed to keep a watch after all - so she decided to sneak up on him. She didn’t make it more than a few paces when he looked up and his expression changed to surprise.

“Madame de Fer,” he whispered and quickly tucked away whatever he was working on.

She had noticed that he always addressed her with utmost respect, giving her a wider berth that strictly necessary. There was fear and reverence in his glance every time they spoke, and while she appreciated the sentiment, she really wished to help the poor boy not be so terrified. She decided to join him by the fire.

“My darling, what were you working on so intently?” she asked.

“Nothing important,” he replied, his face strained.

Vivienne frowned a little. “If it was truly nothing important, you wouldn’t have hidden it from me,” she pointed out and tried for a soft smile. “I’m on your side, my dear Osric. You need not be afraid.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, staring at each other intently. For the first time in a long time, Vivienne felt like someone was able to look at her and not see just an Enchanter or a politician, but a woman who tried to do her best. Perhaps Osric saw that, because he sighed heavily and reached for what he had hidden before.

A breath caught in Vivienne’s throat.

On a large piece of bark, drawn with burnt wood, was a picture of her - in a gorgeous style she has never seen before. Yes, she has had portraits commissioned of her before, usually by her beloved Bastien, but they never truly showed anything more than what she put out there for the sake of The Game. This little scribbled portrait showed her fine lines, the imperfections, the scars; the woman beneath the magic. She found it hard to keep the tears in check.

“Is that how you see me, darling?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged, clearly embarrassed by her reaction. “You like to hide behind a mask, but I think you look better without it,” he admitted.

Whether he meant her makeup or just her demeanor, Vivienne didn’t know and didn’t dare ask. Instead, she put an arm around Osric’s shoulder and pulled him closer.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I love it.”


	10. Lost

_“Tell me, what do you feel?”_

It took the Templars almost ten days before they gathered supplies and people, and ventured toward Haven. It gave Osric an excuse to throw himself into necessary work, traveling to every area he already visited to tie up any loose ends. 

_“Tell me, what do you feel?”_

Scout Harding was off somewhere else, most likely exploring new areas she so desperately wanted to see before the world got swallowed up by the Breach. Osric longed to see her face again, hear her level voice deliver a report that was always so precise yet humorous.

_“Tell me, what do you feel?”_

Scratch that; he didn’t want her to see him in this state, distracted and disoriented. He wanted her to think well of him, of who he was trying to be. He wanted--

_“Tell me, what do you feel?”_

He felt cold dread grip his soul, the voice of Envy constantly asking that blasted question, forever repeating in his brain. _What do you feel, Osric? Are you still your own person?_

He no longer knew.


	11. Idolize

The Breach had been closed.

Osric sat among the celebrating people and quietly nursed a sizeable mug of ale. By all accounts, they have won; the Templars were able to suppress enough of Fade magic for Osric to seal the damnable hole in the sky and save the day. Or at least that was what it looked like.

He glanced around, watching his friends enjoy themselves and he tried his best to feel happy for them. They all worked really hard for it, stood behind him in support of a cause that seemed almost impossible. They deserved this moment of happiness.

Osric envied them all. No matter how hard he tried, his own happiness would not come, dimmed by the fact that his hand still glowed green and fizzled any time he thought about it too hard. The fact made him beyond uneasy.

“They look up to you,” he heard a quiet voice next to him.

He jumped, still unused to the unsettling way Cole liked to appear unbidden and say the most bizarre things. Osric took a sip of his ale to cover his discomfort and glanced to the side.

“I can’t imagine why. Or how,” he murmured.

Cole stayed silent for a moment, as if listening to the wind, before his spoke again.

“They don’t understand you, not completely, but they love you anyway. They want you to shine like a beacon of hope for the world, pure and true. They are happy you lived.” He paused. “You don’t share their feelings.”

Osric took another, deeper, gulp of his ale, praying it would quickly make him forget where he was.

“Please don’t tell anybody,” he said quietly. “Let them have this one night of revelry.”

By the time he turned to Cole again, the boy was gone.


	12. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning:** Death. Lots of death. Descriptions of dying. This is about Haven so that's what's happening...

_Seggrit._

_Flissa._

_Minaeve._

_Adan._

_Threnn._

Haven burned, swallowed whole by red monsters that wanted everything dead. Another ally had shown up on their doorstep, but it was too late to warn everybody, so people still died. So many burned in their homes, screaming for someone to help them, to save them, only to go still right before Osric’s arrival. He actually held Adan’s hand as his eyes glazed over with death, his face still shaped like despair and terror, and Osric felt himself grow cold with overwhelming dread. He had seen people die countless of times; he’s never watched his friends perish in front of him.

As a terrifying dragon swooped in over the mountain and reigned more fire on the unsuspecting villagers, all Osric could think of was Cullen’s determined face and the idea of a last ditch effort.

“Make them hear you.”

Those words echoed in Osric’s mind as the avalanche rolled through the village and wiped away last of the flames.

Then the darkness came.


	13. Alone

“For the people!” Osric bellowed and the crowd around him roared into one, big cheer.

He lifted the sword above his head and jabbed at the sky, hoping that Dorian’s boosting enchantments would hold him steady. The avalanche at Haven and the resulting trek across the Frostbacks did not leave him unscathed: he had several shattered ribs, a punctured lung and a broken knee that Osric was convinced would start bending the other way. Yet with the power of magic - and some really potent potions - he was able to stand on his own two feet and bring a two-handed sword over his head. Everything to inspire the masses, Josephine had said.

As people continued to cheer, dance, and praise the name of Andraste, Osric silently watched the sea of happy faces below. They were all together and hugging each other, chatting excitedly about things he could not hear while he stood elevated above all, alone.

The sword came down a little faster than he had expected and Cassandra materialized at his side, taking it from Osric. His body was at its limit for the day and his advisors ushered him inside, toward the large room on top of a large tower inside of a large fortress in the middle of inhospitable mountains. Strange potions and stranger spells awaited him as he continued the healing process in a bed that felt too big for him.

All while the lonely burden of leadership dragged him down ever more.


	14. Books

The stack of books on the bedside table seemed to grow by itself and Osric felt powerless to stop it.

“Really, Josephine,” he said when she placed yet another tome on the pile. “I don’t see the reason why I must know so much about Fereldan history. Isn’t this what I have you for? To explain it in simple terms so my thick brain can understand it?”

She was fussing with the covers again, a nervous tick he noticed ever since they had arrived in Skyhold and took up residence. He assumed Josephine felt guilty for something he could not quite understand.

“Well, you’re bedridden anyway, so might as well get some reading done,” she said tersely, her smile never reaching her eyes. “If you’d like, I can bring you some Orlesian history books instead. They are filled with _lots_ of excitement - murder, betrayal and genocide.”

Osric stared at Josephine, his mouth agape.

“You can’t be serious,” he said finally.

She smiled sweetly, though her eyes reflected none of the mirth.

“Dead serious, Inquisitor. May I suggest a series on Exalted Marches by Brother Genitivi? It’ll come in handy when you enter the Exalted Plains.”

Osric did not like the sound of any of it. Still, he reached for the next book in his reach and opened it to page one. At least with all of this reading, his comprehension of Common was getting better by the hour.


	15. Oasis

When reports had arrived about a new area to explore, Osric could not wait to get out of Skyhold. His post-Haven wounds had long since healed - all thanks to an expert team of medics at his disposal - but the fact that everybody looked at him like he had created Satina drove him a little more crazy with every new day. The thought of once again seeing the freckled face of a certain redhead, one so dear to him, kept him going when his party entered the Western Approach. That being said, by the time he reached the first Inquisition outpost he felt like the dry wind had turned him into a dwarven-sized prune.

“You take me to the nicest places,” Dorian commented, his voice dripping with enough sarcasm to make The Iron Bull snort. “I can handle the heat, but this dry air is going to completely ruin my complexion.”

Osric turned around on his stout little pony and raised an eyebrow.

“We can always kill a vaghrest and turn its fat into a cream for you?” he suggested innocently.

Bull roared into laughter as an indignant Dorian sputtered and huffed about the injustice of being stuck with two brutes who did not understand the need for looking your best when fighting enemies. Osric smiled to himself; at the end of the world and away from the prostrating masses, being surrounded by his friends was the only thing that kept him sane.


	16. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the Iron Bull for not putting up with Osric's abelist bullshit :D You tell him what's up!

Osric should have known that his regard for Scout Harding had not gone unnoticed, because the moment they arrived in the forward camp of the Western Approach, all three of his companions kept trying to push him towards her. The initial briefing went fine and the two of them had a lovely interaction, but then it all went back to business as usual. Varric seemed terribly annoyed by this.

“What have we talked about, hmmm?” he said pointedly. “If you like the girl, you talk to the girl. Otherwise she might think you’re avoiding her.”

The Iron Bull stood nearby and sagely nodded along.

“But what if she doesn’t want to talk to me? You people made me Inquisitor and I’m sure that’s too weird for her,” Osric replied and pointed to his leg. “Plus, I’m broken. Women prefer men who don’t have to wear a knee brace.”

Something dangerous flashed in Bull’s eyes at those words, but instead of refuting Osric’s words, a mischievous grin spread across his face.

“Wanna bet otherwise?” he said and turned to where Scout Harding stood with her fellows. “Scout Harding! A moment please?” he shouted.

Instant panic flushed Osric’s body, but before he could say or do anything to react, she was there, standing before him with a question on her face.

“Yes?”

“The Inquisitor would like a word with you,” Bull announced and unceremoniously left, taking Varric and Dorian with him.

Left along with Harding, Osric could feel his whole body grow warmer, while the silence between them stretched to an uncomfortable length. 

“Dare I ask what this is about?” she said playfully.

Osric actually wanted to die. “My friends being terrible assholes?” he offered and finally dared to look her in the eyes. She was beautiful, all tanned and freckled and wind-swept, and he had no idea how to talk to her.

“I have a feeling there’s more to it than that,” she replied with a smile.

He desperately needed to pull his shit together and start speaking with her like a normal person. The last few months had been incredibly hard on him, but it was not an excuse to treat this woman like another faceless cog in the Inquisition machine. After all, she meant _something_ to him. He took a deep breath and tried to return her smile.

“If I remember correctly, we had an agreement, Scout Harding,” he said and reached out his hand. “My name is Osric. What is yours?”

For several excruciating breaths, Osric stood there, hoping against hope that she would keep her promise from what felt like a lifetime ago. She looked down at his outstretched hand, up to his face and and seemed to make a decision. She stepped closer and took his hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Osric,” she said and blushed ever so slightly. “My name is Lace, but please,” she leaned in even more, “I beg you - don’t let the others know. They’ll tease me for sure.”

Osric felt dizzy from happiness - he had her name _and_ she stood really close while still holding his hand. The grin that bloomed on his face could have outshone the sun in its brilliance.

“Don’t worry, Lace,” he said, testing her name on his tongue. “Your secret is safe with me.”


	17. Wood

It was the middle of the day and the sun was high in the sky, but somehow the Emerald Graves still seemed chilly and dark. Osric paused near a tall, sturdy tree and leaned against it, feeling the grooves of its bark against his skin. Deep down, he could feel the sorrow and the pain of the elves that fell here and he could not help being somber in their place of final rest. He hated he had to be there to begin with.

He heard Solas stop next to him.

“Tell me, Inquisitor, can you feel the spirits of the past long gone, of the people so senselessly slaughtered here?” he asked in his cool, collected tone. “They call to me even while I walk in the waking world.”

Osric frowned, unsure what to say. The elven man unnerved him on the best of days, and confused him on the worst, but today he seemed pensive and sad.

“I don’t know,” he replied quietly. “I only know that it’s really pretty here and that I don’t like it.”

Solas hummed to himself, as if in agreement, and left Osric behind in companionable silence. For a moment in time, they were just two men grieving for a tragic past.


	18. Fun Times

Osric hated snow with a passion; unfortunately, Emprise du Lion had it in spades. Even properly equipped with warm clothes and extra padding, he would get cold and grumpy and wish to return to camp for another cup of hot stew. The only thing that kept him warm was combat, so anytime there was an opportunity to clear out an area of any enemies, he applied himself thoroughly.

And so did others.

He paused after killing yet another black wolf and watched with fascination as the Iron Bull launched Sera into the air; she floated above a group of lesser wolves and rapidly shot her arrows, one after the other. Within moments, the area was cleared, and with the battle over, Osric felt an idea form in his head. He stepped towards his companions.

“Hey, Bull? Would you be able to toss me like that?”

The Iron Bull looked down at Osric, skeptically.

“I don’t know. You’re a lot denser, it could be weird.”

“Can we try anyway?” Osric didn’t feel like giving up just yet.

Bull shrugged. “Sure. I think I see a group of reavers up ahead. We can try on them.”

Osric grinned in turn. “Great. Let’s go!”

Later, once the news of this experiment reached Skyhold - and the resulting extensive facial bruising on the Inquisitor-, Varric swore he would never let Osric go out in the field without him.


	19. Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNING:** Dead bodies and horror galore. We are briefly going into the Fade, ya'll!

Osric hated spiders - they reminded him of cramped spaces in Darktown and how many creepy-crawlies would try to occupy his bed. The Nightmare knew this fact, because every single demon that came at them looked like a bloated horror version of these things. Nothing prepared him for the voice inside his head, though.

_Why are you fighting? Nobody will thank you for this. They will all hate you. You will always be alone._

It was like a hiss, cold and trembling, gripping Osric by his neck and crawling down his spine like the spiders he hated so much.

_You think a girl would ever love you? She only wants you because of the position you hold. She’ll leave the moment you fall. You mean nothing to her._

“Lies,” Osric snarled out loud and his companions turned to him. “Not true.”

Varric was at his side in a flash. “Is this blasted demon talking to you? Don’t listen to it. No matter what it says, it’s _not true_.”

Osric nodded, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. Instead, an ominous laughter rang across the hellish landscape and the creepy voice returned.

_You can’t deny me. I know everything. I know your deepest fears and I will show them to you. Aren’t you glad she’s gone now?_

Things shifted, his vision blurred, and he was presented with a view that made him choke on air: the path towards the rift was lined with dead bodies, one more mangled than the next, and they were all of Lace Harding. It was horrifying, surreal, and completely unbelievable, but Osric still needed to lean on Varric when one of the bodies turned its vacant, bloodied face and spoke:

“Why didn’t you save me?”


	20. Not Enough

_You are back - good. The Inquisitor was looking for you._

_The Inquisitor is not here. I don’t know where he is or when he’ll return._

There was something wrong; Lace could feel it in her bones. The battle had been harrowing and afterward it had been her group’s responsibility to keep track of, and dispatch, any enemy stragglers. Her job done, she was back in camp, ready to report to the Inquisitor.

But Osric... was missing.

According to the few people she asked he had fallen out of the rift, closed it, recruited the Grey Wardens, and promptly left the fortress. The official story was that he had sequestered himself to his tent to recover, but it was a bold-faced lie. Considering the fact that the top brass and the inner circle looked uncharacteristically worried, and that the tent in question stood empty, Lace set out at once, trying to figure out where Osric may have gone.

It took her a little over an hour of diligent sleuthing to find familiar tracks; ever since he had survived the avalanche in Haven, Osric walked with a slight limp, which made his footprints distinct to Lace’s eyes. She used to pretend that knowing such things about the Inquisitor only meant that she was good at her job, but she had since come to terms with her own feelings. It was stupid to have such a deep crush on the Inquisitor, but she couldn’t help herself; his dorky grins and awkward compliments always made her heart beat just a little faster.

When she finally found him, she didn’t know at first what he was doing. His sword and shield stood propped against a nearby rock wall, while Osric himself wielded a large stick that he continuously dragged across the sandy ground in irregular patterns. It wasn’t until she found a higher vantage point that she realized it was her own face staring back at her. It was a rough sketch, and perhaps it didn’t look exactly like her, but it was difficult mistake for anything else. Feeling like she encroached on something she shouldn’t have seen, she sneaked around the rocks and approached from the open side. He was so engrossed, he didn’t even notice her arrival.

“Osric?” she called out softly.

He stopped immediately and looked up, his face frozen in clear shock. They stood there for several moments, staring into each other’s eyes, before Osric finally shook himself free and trembling words fell from his mouth.

“Lace? Praise the Maker, you’re alive.”

That statement confused her to no end, but before she could get any clarification, Osric swiftly walked towards her and wrapped his hands around her body.

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered into her neck and the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down her spine. “The demon kept telling me that you died and I kept fighting back, but then the battle was over and nobody could tell me where you were and-- and-- and I thought--”

Lace couldn’t help herself, not really, as she placed her arms around his shoulders and hugged him harder. He seemed to melt into her in a way that made her both sad and happy all at once. Feeling brave, she reached around and gently carded one hand through his hair, a gesture which seemed to soothe him into a semblance of calm. It didn’t take long before he caught his breath and regained his center, though when he pulled away, he still kept his eyes lowered as he rubbed at them with his palms.

“Sorry, I was being silly again,” he mumbled.

She gently smacked his arm. “Don’t say that,” she chided him softly. “It’s okay to have bad days, you know? And you've had a few shitty ones in a row.”

He snorted. When his watery gaze returned to hers, Lace tried her best to give him an encouraging a smile, something that would make him feel better.

“When you put it that way…” he said and trailed off. 

Osric was clearly trying to say more, but whatever had infested his mind with doubt would not let him speak freely. She gently took his hand in hers and squeezed it.

“Want to go sit down and tell me just how shitty it’s been?” she softly suggested.

He blanched at the suggestion and the reaction cut Lace’s heart in half. She squeezed his hand again, reminding him of her presence, and he calmed visibly.

“Or you could explain why my face is scribbled into the sand?”

That elicited an entirely different reaction, his face turning an interesting shade of red, while his expressions turned to complete embarrassment. She smirked - this was an improvement and she was going to pursue it.

“Ooooo… There’s a story there!” she exclaimed and tugged him towards the place where he had left his weapons. “And you’re going to tell me.”


	21. Soft

Summons already sent out, Osric paced inside his tent and wondered for the nth time that day if he was wrong in his assumptions. His friends and companions had been encouraging him to pursue a relationship with Lace for a very long time - some from the beginning, actually - so taking this step felt overdue and immensely terrifying. He kept trying to remind himself of what Varric had said earlier: imagine the worst case scenario, the best case scenario, and what was most likely to happen. It helped his nerves only marginally. 

In the worst case scenario, Lace would laugh at him and his stupid notions of romance, and leave his tent immediately, never to interact with him again. In the best case scenario, Lace would become so absolutely enchanted by his prepared speech, she’d fall into his arms at once - just like in those romance books Varric insisted on writing. Realistically speaking, Osric expected her to graciously thank him for his interest and let him off easy. After all, she probably had better prospects somewhere else.

All of his doomsday thoughts came to a halt when the tent flap opened and Lace Harding purposefully stepped inside.

“You wanted to see me, Inquisitor?” she asked, all business-like.

“On a personal matter,” he replied with a small smile.

Over the past several weeks it had become their code for how to behave around each other. When others were around, they addressed each other professionally and kept their distance, but once they were alone, they would drop formalities and often sit close together as they talked. It was a pleasure to watch Lace go from stiff and formal to relaxed and warm.

“You sent a missive on a personal matter?” she asked, an amused smirk teasing her shapely lips. “How mischievous. What’s going on?”

Lace stopped really close to him and turned just right, so the sunlight that seeped through the cracks in the door fell onto her face with the perfect amount of playfulness. She was beautiful and whatever speech Osric had prepared, disappeared into thin air.

She still waited on an answer from him, though.

“Do you like me?”

The question left his mouth before he could catch it, and it dropped between them like a particularly embarrassing piece of trivia. Heat rushed to his cheeks at once - he could feel it spread on his face, his neck, and even down to his chest, though thankfully he wore enough clothing to conceal that. Lace wasn’t doing any better, her face gaining a vibrant pink color that looked lovely on her skin. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Varric’s voice started talking about the worst case scenario.

“I…” she paused and cleared her throat, “I do.”

Oh.

He had to be dreaming, Osric then decided. Or maybe she misunderstood his meaning and didn’t know what he actually intended? Considering he was a terrible communicator, he decided to make things clear. He tenderly took her hand in his - in the same way she had done for him right after Adamant - and looked her in the eye, willing her to plainly see his desire.

“I meant… romantically.”

Something interesting happened then, where Lace’s body shifted even closer to Osric’s, leaning in ever so slightly, so he could smell the leather and sunshine that clung to her skin. It was intoxicating and he felt slightly dizzy.

“My answer is still ‘yes’,” she replied, her voice pitched lower than he was used to.

Normally, keeping eye contact with another person was intensely uncomfortable for Osric, but it had never been the case with Lace. Now, staring into her freckled face, he could barely look anywhere else - her green-hazel eyes sparkled like one of those gems he had collected for the Inquisition and carried enough warmth to set his whole soul on fire. He briefly glanced down to her lips, wondering if they tasted as perfect as they looked. 

“I would very much like to kiss you,” he murmured.

There was barely any space left between them so when Lace’s face split into a wide smile, it became his entire world.

“I’d like that.”

Before she could change her mind, Osric leaned in and kissed her. 

It had to be years since the last time he had kissed a woman and this was a first time with someone he actually cared about, so he felt shy and hesitant, completely unsure just how much would be too much. He didn’t want to scare her off, so after a few soft brushes of his mouth over hers, he pulled away.

Nothing and everything changed between them. She was still Lace and he was still Osric, but they had a connection now and that thought made him smile.

“For the record,” he said. “I really like you, too.”

She chuckled. “I am happy to know that,” she replied and closed the gap again. _Her_ kiss was nowhere near as chaste as Osric’s and it made his toes curl.


	22. Angelic

In the grand scheme of things, Osric was not a religious man. He was brought up in both the Andrastian and Dwarven traditions, but neither of them really spoke to him on a spiritual level. He recognized there was probably a supreme being out there that controlled everything, but the fight over what to call that power was beyond Osric’s pay-grade. The Chantry mothers knew this about him and consistently despaired that the Herald of Andraste didn’t care to regularly praise the Prophet’s name; the fact that Adamant proved Osric wasn’t special did nothing to persuade them away from their fervor.

Mother Giselle almost tripped and fell when Osric entered the Skyhold Chantry and sat down on one of the benches in the back. She continued her service and made sure to say particularly inspiring words in hopes that the Inquisitor would continued his patronage. She didn’t know he didn’t listen to anything she preached.

Instead, he stared at a small group of people to the side, the Chantry volunteer choir, where right at the front sat Lace Harding. Any time a hymn or a Verse had to be sang, they all would get up and perform, and every time Osric would get the goofiest grin on his face, thoroughly enjoying how well Lace could sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can Osric actually distinguish Lace's voice in a chorus? Probably not, but this dork will pretend that he can. Because he's supportive like that.


	23. The Past

It was supposed to be a routine check up on the road when Osric’s party was ambushed by lyrium smugglers that were both organized and ruthless. Thankfully, his team has had months to learn how to fight together, so it didn’t take long to disable the majority of attackers. It all was going well when he heard a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

“Osric Cadash!” it roared. “Your ass is _mine_ ”

Osric turned and froze in place, his eyes large with terror. Coming at him was a bull of a man, a dwarf as wide as he was tall, wearing the ugliest armor imaginable, and armed with the biggest mallet possible. A flood of nightmarish memories washed over Osric, images of past pain and hurt that he thought he’d never have to deal with again. After all, it wasn’t every day your worst bully showed up in your life with the clear intent to finally kill you.

“Kajetan,” Osric whimpered quietly.

He needed to move, he needed to raise his shield in order to block the incoming blow, but his limbs would _not move_. He just stared as a wall of destruction came at him, unrelenting and unforgiving.

A shimmer fell around him and the mallet bounced back with a loud sound.

“Osric, my dear,” he heard Vivienne say. “Do you need me to stomp on this bug or would you like to give it a try first?”

Something about the steel in Vivienne’s voice grounded Osric and reminded him that before this day he had fought giants, red Templars, demons and a few dragons, so one dwarven man should not be such a big deal. He looked up at the woman next to him, noted her stony expression, and braced himself.

“I’ll take care of it,” he replied. “Cover me?”

“Of course, my darling.”

Fear still pumped through his veins, speeding up his heartbeat and roaring in his ears, but the knowledge that he had a team at his back, that he wasn’t alone, helped bolster his resolve. He hoisted his shield, pointed his sword and charged with a scream.

The fight was surprisingly easy after that. Having known Kajetan during their formative years, Osric was well aware of his weaknesses and his favorite moves. It took almost no time to get past his defenses, wound him time after time, and watch as lifeforce ebbed away together with his blood. His opponent was getting slower and made mistakes, so that Osric was able to slice up a sword through tendons in his legs, bringing Kajetan to his knees.

“Fuck you, you useless piece of shit,” Kajetan roared, clearly in excruciating pain. “You’re worthless!”

A quick glance around him let Osric know that all threat had been eliminated, so he tossed aside his weapons and punched Kajetan as hard as he could.

“You’re the one who’s worthless,” he screamed back. “You’re a sack of shit. I hate you!”

He kept punching, his armored gloves both protecting his knuckles and dealing extra damage to Kajetan’s face. Soon the dwarf on the ground was no longer conscious, beaten into a slumped-over bloody mess, but it wasn’t enough for Osric - he kicked him in the ribs too, just for good measure.

“You okay, Boss?” he heard Bull ask and a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder. “That seemed personal.”

Osric could feel himself shake with the inner rage that had taken over, so he stepped back and looked over his handiwork. It took several moments and some deep breaths to finally calm down.

“You know the scars I have on my body?” Bull hummed with agreement. “He’s the one responsible. I was fourteen when he gave them to me.”

The hand on his shoulder flexed briefly.

“Do you need me to take out the trash?” Bull asked quietly. The deadly tone was unmistakable.

“No,” Osric said and shook his head. He suddenly felt really tired. “Leave him where he is. Even if he lives, he won’t walk again. He will never chase after me again.”

And with that, Osric turned and left the most painful part of his past behind.


	24. Friends in High Places

“Varric, don’t!” Osric pleaded.

For his part, Varric was quickly scribbling over parchment, his hand certain in its intent.

“You were attacked by a Carta member, _after_ we made all necessary arrangements with them,” he said and wrote his signature with an exaggerated flourish. “Ruffles is writing her own letters and I’m writing mine. This breach of contract will _not_ be tolerated.”

Osric huffed a exasperated breath. 

“Nothing terrible happened! It’s fine. I’m safe. No need to raise so much noise over one simple--”

Varric slammed his quill flat against the table, shocking Osric into silence.

“We handled it this time. Next time, we might not be as lucky,” he said forcefully. He actually sounded angry for once. “This needs to be taken care of, kid. I have connections; let me use them.”

As the steady scratch of quill over parchment resumed, Osric stared in quiet surprise - he was not used to people caring about his well-being to such degree. His mother had never really paid much attention and he never had many friends to speak of. The fact that the entirety of the Inquisition was up in arms over the rogue Carta ambush made him feel warm things. Was this what having real family felt like? With a small smile that bloomed on his face, Osric found that he liked it.


	25. Fancy

Osric hated the excessively stiff uniform he had been forced to wear, but he figured it was an improvement over what he would have had to wear if Josephine had decided to go with the Orlesian fashion. He had seen people in Val Royeaux - the thought of having to wear a weird hat, a body suit and a mask to the Winter Palace sounded beyond preposterous.

“You should stop fidgeting, Inquisitor,” Josephine reprimanded him softly.

He sighed. “The uniform is constricting my movement. And it chafes at the neck.”

She carefully reached to his neck and gently tugged at the collar; it barely moved.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do anything to fix that,” she said. “Perhaps try to keep your head a little back and see if that helps?”

He gave Josephine a narrowed glance - she was clearly on edge, nervous about the upcoming ball, but she still took the time and effort to put him at ease. He gave her a small smile.

“I will do my best. I don’t have any other choice, do I?” he pointed out. “I’m a dwarf playing dress up among the nobility. I have to show my best side or these people will eat me alive.”

She returned his critical gaze by looking him up and down.

“I think you look quite nice,” she said softly.

The affection in her voice startled Osric, but before he could investigate further the gates to the palace creaked open and stopped any continuing conversation. 

It was time to save the Empire of Orlais.


	26. Princess and the Frog

The roof of The Herald’s Rest was not the best place to hold dates with your sweetheart, but somehow Lace didn’t oppose the idea when Osric had suggested it. Which was why they ended up there, late at night, cozy blankets laid out for comfort and a basket of provisions sitting off to the side. They were supposed to watch the nighttime sky, but all Osric did was admire the stars in Lace’s eyes.

“So, how was Halamshiral?” Lace asked once they finally took a break from their reunion smooches.

Osric felt his entire body clench at the mere mention of the name and had to consciously force himself to relax. Lace placed a small kiss on his nose.

“That bad?” she asked with a soft smile.

“Worse,” he said emphatically. “I felt like that frog in the fairytale, but instead of turning into a prince, I thought they were going to stomp me to death.”

“You look pretty handsome for a frog,” Lace said with a cheeky grin.

Osric snorted in reply. “Your eyes are failing you at a very young age, my dear. And so are your other senses. After all, I very much sound like a frog.”

He leaned in, aimed for her cheek, and as he put his mouth against her skin, he let out a resounding “Ribbit!” Lace squealed in surprise, but before she could properly recover, Osric peppered her jaw and neck with slightly slobbery kisses accentuated with that very same word. Soon she was giggling and playfully trying to defend herself against his assault, but to no avail, and it wasn’t until he tired of it that he released her from his grip. It took her a while to catch her breath, but she didn’t seem upset from having laughed so much.

“If you keep doing that, we’ll be found out,” she pointed out, still gasping a little. 

Osric placed a tender kiss on her temple. “I don’t mind. I like hearing you laugh,” he admitted quietly.

A soft blush graced her face again, barely visible in the limited light, and she looked so pretty Osric felt compelled to kiss her again. Thankfully, she didn’t mind that either and quickly melted into his embrace. 

It wasn’t until some moments later that they broke away again and a small frown creased Lace’s brow.

“Weren’t we supposed to look for shooting stars?” she asked, briefly glancing up at the sky.

Looking into her face, her rosy cheeks, her sparkling eyes, and her kiss-swollen lips, Osric realized that he wasn’t interested in celestial happenings after all.

“I don’t need to,” he said tenderly. “All of my wishes already came true”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to announce I've contracted diabetes in the process of writing this ficlet. These two are gross and I love them.


	27. Moment of Terror

When Osric entered the jungle in Arbor Wilds he quickly realized that no matter how hard Cullen had tried to clear a path for him the battle was happening everywhere and all at once. Pockets of violence kept erupting around him, needing his immediate attention in order to move forward. It was chaos, friend and foe alike fighting in clusters around him.

In a lull between skirmishes, he noticed a familiar figure with a bow, her red hair tied back in the signature looped braid. Osric smiled to himself as he watched Lace use the thick foliage as cover to methodically dispatch enemy combatants or support any passing groups of Inquisition fighters. He was just about to turn and move on when he watched an arrow graze her shoulder. She jerked to the side, thinking she had avoided danger, when two more arrows hit their mark, embedding themselves deep in her right shoulder. 

Lace fell to the ground, motionless.

“No!!!” Osric screamed into the air and rushed to her side before his mind even finished processing what he had seen. 

More arrows kept raining out of the sky, but Osric didn’t care. He stopped at Lace’s side, brought up his shield to cover both of them and reached to pull the arrows out of her body. A hand around his wrist stopped him at once.

“Don’t,” Lace moaned quietly. “I’ll only bleed out if you remove them.”

“But you’re hurt!” Osric said urgently. 

That’s when Solas, Vivienne and Varric finally arrived at his side, Solas’ barrier falling around them like a shimmery balm. The elven man knelt down beside Lace and inspected the wound.

“It’s not life-threatening, but you need to see a proper healer quickly,” he announced after a moment. “I will pour some boosting magic into your body, but someone more experienced will have to tend to you.”

Lace nodded, but before any more planning could be done, another volley of arrows bounced off the barrier.

“Let’s go take care of these assholes with bows so healers can approach safely,” Varric suggested, then turned to Osric. “You stay with her. We can do it without you.”

“But…”

"Stay," Vivienne chimed in. "It'll take us but a minute."

Osric finally gave in as his friends rushed towards the elven Sentinels, their weapons drawn. He turned to Lace, worry still at the forefront of his mind.

“How are you feeling?” he asked stupidly. Her face was covered in a layer of sweat and she was breathing really hard, and he really didn’t want to consider just how much pain she was in.

“I’m just peachy,” she said through gritted teeth. “You really shouldn’t be wasting all of this time on me.”

Osric scowled.

“You’re insane if you think--”

The barrier suddenly flickered and dissipated with a wave of sickening energy. A strangled roar sounded nearby and Osric turned to watch a giant red Templar stumble into view.

“Shit.”

His companions nowhere near him, and with Lace incapacitated, there was only Osric that stood between the Templar and the woman he cared about, which mean there was only one course of action left. He clenched his fists around his sword and shield, and got ready to put up a fight.

“Osric, run,” he heard Lace whisper next to him. He turned to look at her and saw the hard resolve steel her normally bright eyes. She reached for her discarded bow with visible effort. “I’ll distract him so you can get away.”

She wanted to sacrifice her own life in order to guarantee his survival and the thought made him cold to the bone. 

“No,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel. “I will _not_ abandon you.”

Osric stood up then, completely ignoring the hushed platitudes coming from Lace. His mind was already focused on the red monster before him, calculating its mass, its balance, its defense, and attack capability. He let the rage build in his blood, the thought of what this Templar would have done to a defenseless woman if Osric hadn’t been there. He brought up memories of the Fade, of what it would feel like to lose Lace and never see her smile at him again. That’s when he finally felt prepared to fight.

He focused his energy and released a mighty taunt: “Come at me, you crusty bitch!”

It worked. The red Templar stopped fixating on Lace’s prone form and turned to him instead. They faced off for the briefest of moments before Osric rushed forward in a charge. He had fought these enemies before; yes it had been with companions at his side, but structure of the battle remained the same. The Templar swung its dilapidated sword in a wide arch - which Osric dodged with ease. It let him get close enough to attack several weak spots he could see and deal significant damage. 

Unfortunately, being small and experienced only took Osric so far before the monster landed several of its own hits. There was blood running down the side of his face and he could feel his shield arm weakening from parrying, but he was determined to keep going. He kept taunting the beast, whipping it into a frenzy of violence that Osric hoped would soon give him an opening.

It happened when the Templar tried to swing a really heavy hit, missed and momentarily lodged its sword into the soft ground. Osric got behind it and, in a move reminiscent of how he had dealt with Kajetan, he drove his sword across the legs, right above the knees, and into the fleshy bits.

A loud roar of pain echoed through the forest as the lyrium-infested terror fell to its knees. This time around, Osric didn’t hesitate even a moment as he swung his sword and lodged it deep into the Templar’s neck. It took several long moments of dodging feeble attacks from the dying beast to sever its head, but once that was accomplished, Osric paused to assess the situation.

Lace was still slumped near a bush, her ashen face a mixture of horror and admiration, but _safe_. His companions must have heard him battle the Templar because they were running to join Osric’s side. The red monstrosity itself no longer moved, its battered form turning into a grotesque lump in the grass. Osric had won this battle and a small triumphant smile graced his face.


	28. Be My Valentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Osric might be ready to come to terms with some of his emotions...

_My Sweetest,_

_I wish I could be at your side right now to make sure the care you’re receiving is the best available. I worry you had more trouble after I fell through the mirror at the Temple. Please stay safe. I don’t know what I would do without you._

Osric stared at the last line and felt it didn’t adequately express the breadth and scope of his feelings for Lace Harding. Yes, she was a strong, capable woman, a phenomenal scout and an invaluable asset to the Inquisition, but personally, Osric found himself thinking of her in much softer terms. 

No matter how silly or ridiculous, Lace always laughed at Osric’s jokes, often her whole body bending to the shape of her mirth. Her eyes shone like the stars any time he had the opportunity to see them up close. Her kisses melted away the outside world, calming his anxieties and making his heart sing in ways he never thought possible. She was his pillar, his joy, and his peace.

She was his love.

The word used to scare him, its scope and magnitude so much bigger than any of his previous relationships combined, but it felt right now. He smiled to himself as he put the quill back to the parchment.

_Once you’ve recovered enough and you’re in Skyhold, please find me. I desperately need to tell you something._


	29. End of Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. If you get the reference that is the prompt, you get a brownie point :D  
> 2\. I decided to challenge myself to write this as an actual drabble - 100 words. I'm glad to report I'm still capable of doing it :D

Lace had not been in Haven when Corypheus first attacked it, so it was terrifying to watch him now rip through the Inquisition forces. Then Osric had arrived and immediately made his way towards the center of action; he looked so different as the Inquisitor - dark, focused, silent - so unlike the man she knew…

...and loved.

When the ground shook, knocking her down and away from the rocks rising into the sky, she watched in horror as the battle to save the world played out away from her influence. 

And for the first time in a long time, Lace prayed.


	30. Final Decision

There was a party to attend, a victory banquet he had no desire to participate in, but had been forced into anyway. Perhaps it was why he was still in his quarters and staring at the piles of papers on his desk that needed attention. He briefly wondered what Josephine would say if he opted to do paperwork instead of mingling with nobility.

A quiet noise down the staircase brought him back to reality and he straightened up as Vivienne stepped into view.

“You wished to see me, Inquisitor?” she asked as she came closer.

He nodded. “Yes. I wanted to speak with you about something.”

She smiled and shifted her stance, her face showing clear amusement.

“And it couldn’t wait until _after_ the party?” she asked with a knowing smirk.

Osric did his best to not pout at Vivienne’s comment.

“I never thought that replying to correspondence would sound appealing,” he said with a sigh.

Her smirk softened to a tender, affectionate smile.

“We can go down to the main hall together, if it helps,” she offered.

The offer made him smile a little before he remembered why he had called for her.

“That is kind of you,” he said. “But that isn’t why I wanted to speak with you.” He looked down at his desk again, knowing full well the letter had been sent already. “Val Royeaux has been pestering me to make my recommendation for a nomination of the next Divine and I chose to include your name, Madame de Fer.”

Vivienne was an experienced player of The Game so the fact that shock was clear on her face either showed her comfort around Osric or the fact that he managed to surprise her beyond expectations. He had a suspicion it was the latter.

“You still have a say in it, of course,” he continued. “They might not even go with my recommendation, but I feel like you’re the best person for the job.”

She stared at him, eyes drilling into his face, clearly trying to decide on her course of action.

“Why?” she asked finally.

He looked down again. “It’s the least I can do,” he said quietly. “Before all this, I didn’t know how bad the mages had it in Thedas Circles - I’m not one myself, after all. I thought all mages were a step away from being evil monsters and abominations. I was dumb for thinking that, too. I feel like I’ve failed a whole group of people, so if I can help you have the power to help them, I will do it.”

The silence that followed his words stretched for what felt like an eternity. Vivienne kept staring at Osric with a now-blank face he could no longer read. He could tell there was an internal battle raging inside of her, but he had no clue what would be the outcome. When her stance finally softened, he knew she had made a decision.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” she said with a little nod. “You will not be disappointed.”

Osric smiled a little at that. “I’m sure I won’t,” he said and finally felt a small portion of his guilt lift away.


	31. Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get your dental floss ready, this is about to get SUGARY.

The banquet had been exhausting, to say the least, so when a missive came - summoning him to the gardens - Osric immediately excused himself from listening to Arl of Somewhere In Ferelden and promptly stepped outside. He didn’t know where exactly he should go, so he paused at the door and looked around. It took all of his self-control to not jump when Lace seemed to materialize next to him.

“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered and grabbed his hand.

Almost at once they were rushing through the garden, taking smaller paths and avoiding groups of people, only to end up in the southern - the least traveled - corner . They could still hear the revelry, but it was muted here, the relative quiet feeling like the smoothest balm on his frayed nerves. Osric smiled as they stopped, but before he could say another thing, Lace threw herself around his neck and hugged him tightly. All he could do was put his arms around her and press her even closer to his chest.

“I was so afraid,” she murmured into his neck. “I thought you were going to die.”

Ah. He shifted just a little and placed a gentle kiss to the side of her head.

“Well, you’re not rid of me just yet,” he said with a smile. 

She pulled away just enough to glare at Osric and he noted with surprise that her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

“That’s not funny, you dolt,” she told him. “I could have lost you.”

“Maybe,” he said with a slight shrug. “Comes with the territory, you know.”

It clearly didn’t make her feel any better - not that it was supposed to - so he took her darling face in his hands and placed a small kiss on the tip of her nose. He didn’t stop there either, his lips taking him across her face to kiss her cheeks, her jawline, her forehead. By the time he pressed his mouth to hers, she eagerly returned the favor, all softness and tenderness of touch. It felt like coming home after a long day of hard work.

“I love you,” he whispered and immediately stopped breathing.

This wasn’t how he had pictured it happening, but perhaps confessing his love in the middle of a lovely garden while bathed in moonlight could be romantic enough to be forgiven for a bit of spontaneity. Still, he watched her face from mere inches away, hoping against hope that he had read her feelings right, that she felt for him the way he felt for her.

After a moment of shock, her face shifted into a brilliant smile he so adored, made even more beautiful by the moonlight bathing her freckled skin.

“I love you, too,” she said quietly.

In that moment Osric was convinced his chest was going to burst and he’d seize to exist, his happiness was so great. He wanted to howl at the moon and shout his joy at anybody who would listen; instead, he kissed Lace again, and again, and again, never getting tired of how lovely she tasted.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed to tell her.

“For what?”

He grinned against her lips and placed a small kiss there. “I’ll have to tell you ‘I love you’ every chance I get, so I’m sorry in advance if it gets annoying.”

She snorted. “You’re ridiculous. I’ll just have to tell you ‘I love you’ in return,” she said and playfully bit down on his lip.

The tone of his joy turned darker, surprising Osric. Happiness still coursed through his veins, but it was now tinted with desire - and he felt confused and unsure what to do about it. Lace sensed at once that something was different, so she pulled away just enough to have a clear view of his face.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, worried. “Was that too much?”

Osric shook his head. “No. I just…” he paused, unsure of his words. “I think I’m not as broken as I thought I was.”

Lace shook her head at once and scoffed.

“You were never broken to begin with,” she said sternly. “Just because you don’t want to fuck every woman in sight doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

The use of the cuss word on Lace’s lips shocked Osric into a choked laugh. 

“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?” he said with a grin.

She leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “It’s been a while, so I’ll gladly hear it again.”

“I love you,” he said and kissed her forehead. “I love you.” He kissed the bridge of her nose. “I love you.” He kissed her mouth.

They continued in that vein for what felt like forever, until they were almost discovered by some drunken nobility and scared away from the gardens. After a whole lot of meandering through the servants’ corridors, they finally ended up in Osric’s quarters and spent the rest of the night curled around each other in the fluffy comfort of his bed. 

In that moment of time, all was well in the world.


	32. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of posting of this chapter, it is unclear what Solas' intentions are and how games past DA:I will change the world. That being said, Lace and Osric deserve a happy ending so I refuse to believe they get anything other than that.

In the aftermath of Corypheus’ defeat, the Inquisition continued to function as the largest and most powerful entity in Thedas. It meant that Lace was continuously called away on business outside of Skyhold while Osric had to deal with increasingly more mundane issues among the nobility. They continued to carve out time for each other, making sure their relationship bloomed in strength and affection. Many rumors floated about the two of them - some of them more crass than others - but it didn’t faze them or force them into things they weren’t ready for. When they finally consummated their love, it was with mutual understanding and respect.

Being the Inquisitor kept wearing Osric down, to the point where Lace started noticing his deteriorating health. By the time Exalted Council happened, Osric was so fed up with his position of power, he almost welcomed the hostilities. He was disappointed when he learned of Solas’ involvement in the creation of the Breach, but not altogether surprised. That being said, the loss of his left hand put him in a downward spiral of renewed anxiety and self-loathing. He disbanded the Inquisition and locked himself in a room for a week, staring at a wall and barely eating. It took Lace’s intervention to break through his negative shell.

Lace and Osric got married a couple months after that. After Osric inferred that she wouldn’t want him because his arm was maimed, she made it a point to reaffirm her love on a daily basis. She was also the one who proposed to him, repeating herself several times over a course of few days because Osric would not believe her intent. The ceremony was small and attended only by the closest family and friends, celebrating the love of two most deserving people in the world. For the first and last time in her life, Lace actually wore a dress.

Once Solas was dealt with (and given that Kirkwall was still standing), they took up Varric’s offer to settle down in Kirkwall. They eventually had a baby - a girl - who became the apple in her father’s eye. They did try to have more, but the infamous dwarven infertility made it difficult, so instead they adopted three more kids from the local orphanage. Their family continued to be involved in helping people, the name ‘Cadash’ becoming synonymous with philanthropy and social opportunity. In the end, Lace and Osric got to live long, happy lives, surrounded by people who loved them and whom they loved in turn.


End file.
